Читать книгу Something Beautiful and Lacey's Retreat: Something Beautiful / Lacey's Retreat - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 12

Lucas flipped on the light by his favorite armchair in the little den off the kitchen. “Well, well. Would you look at that?”

“I knew you’d want to see it,” Rosie Lee told him, shaking her head. “Dem fellows might be back, Lucas.”

“Yeap, they just might. And I just might be waiting for them.”

Lucas focused on the supermarket tabloid Rosie Lee had handed him. The supermarket tabloid that had a picture of Willa O’Connor, standing on the bayou, plastered across its front cover, complete with the headline “Supermodel flees New York for bed-and-breakfast retreat in Louisiana.” Then, in a subhead, “Why did Willa O’Connor cancel her appearance in benefit fashion show? Details inside.”

Lucas wanted the details. But not this way. He wanted Willa to tell him what was going on. If she saw this, she’d probably pack up and head for parts unknown.

Because she was obviously running from something.

Lucas knew this because, hey, it took one to know one. He’d certainly run away a few times in his life. To the swamp. To New Orleans. To his garden pagoda. He could see all the signs.

But why had Willa come here?

Maybe because she needed to be here; God wanted her to be here right now. Last night at dinner, she’d been polite—her manners were impeccable. She’d also been aloof and withdrawn, traits expected of a haughty model, but they didn’t fit the Willa he’d seen when they’d been alone in the garden. There she’d been more open, more down to earth. Lucas wished he could figure out the real Willa O’Connor, not the glossy image she’d managed to project both on paper and in the flesh.

He put down the tabloid, telling himself he wouldn’t read the disgusting and obviously untrue article inside. Then he pulled out the worn picture he’d found of Willa in the fashion magazine the other morning, comparing it to the blurry headshot from the tabloid.

There was no comparison.

In the glossy magazine shot, Willa looked picture-perfect as she stood smiling on a bridge in Venice, wearing a shimmering baby blue satin evening gown and dazzling jewels. It was an ad for a very expensive designer perfume. It worked for him.

In the tabloid picture, Willa looked lovely, but she had that same lost, worried look on her face Lucas had noticed so many times in the past two days. She was staring at the water as if hoping to find answers there. The intrusive photographers had captured her in a very private moment. And they’d obviously had more than one roll of film, since Lucas had destroyed the rolls in their cameras.

That didn’t work for Lucas.

He wanted to find those two clowns and grind them both to pulp. But Aunt Hilda would tell him that wasn’t the way a Dorsette resolved conflict.

So did he pray for their rotten, misguided souls instead?

Better to pray for Willa. To pray that he could find a way to get closer to her, help her through whatever problem she’d come here to solve.

Rosie Lee stuck her head in the doorway. “Want more coffee, Lucas?”

“Non.” He got up, threw the trashy tabloid on the worn coffee table. “I’m going out to find the rest of the breakfast crowd. Then I’ve got a busy day—got to check the dip nets and trotlines so Lorna will have fresh seafood for dinner tonight. Then I’m supposed to get with Mick and Justin to go over the renovation plans for later this fall. But first I need to see—”

“Willa O’Connor is out on the gallery,” Rosie Lee told him with a grin.

It was uncanny the way Rosie Lee could read his mind, Lucas thought as he grabbed his cup of now cold coffee and headed through the kitchen to the back gardens. Glancing over the clusters of people eating their morning meal, Lucas saw a couple of new faces.

And the one face he’d been searching for.

They were booked solid for the summer, in spite of the damage from the storms earlier in the spring. Of course, Justin and the whole clan had worked around the clock to get the house and gardens in order, but there was still a lot that needed to be done, which was why they would probably have to shut down for a couple weeks in the less busy late fall.

Upkeep on the place was a never-ending battle, but one they gladly accepted. Lucas had pitched in, too. He loved these gardens and their home as much as his aunt and sisters did.

And right now, he especially loved having Willa O’Connor sitting at a wrought-iron table in beige linen pleated slacks and a stark black sleeveless summer sweater, her long hair pulled from her classic face with an exotic metal and wooden clip, her face devoid of any makeup. She looked as if she belonged in a country garden.

As always, her natural beauty assaulted Lucas with the same force as the many flowers blooming around them. It slammed into his gut with a gentle rendering, making him inhale then exhale in one quick breath. He didn’t understand this attraction, had never had to deal with anything quite so strong and sure before. He’d been attracted to other women, but he’d never felt a jolt that went all the way from his stomach to his toes.

And he’d never felt such a fierce longing, a mixture of wanting to protect her and nurture her coupled with a need to know everything about her.

“Staring is quite rude,” Aunt Hilda said under her breath as she walked past him. She took the time to stop and rap his leg with her cane before she moved on, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m going to work. And you, try to stay out of trouble.”

Lucas snapped to attention, then realized he wasn’t the only one staring at Willa. An older couple sitting at the next table—the Gilberts from East Texas—were whispering and staring. And Mrs. Gilbert had a copy of that annoying tabloid in her plump little hand.

Lucas saw the ambush coming before he could take a step to warn Willa.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Mrs. Gilbert chirped as she fluttered to her feet and rushed to Willa’s table. “See. It says so right here.” She pointed to the picture, then looked at Willa, smug and proud of her discovery. “I told William I thought this was you. The story says you didn’t show up at an important fashion event. Says you’re having personal problems.”

Lucas watched as Willa’s smile turned to stony surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Honey, it’s okay, really,” Mrs. Gilbert said, leaning close. “I can understand why you’d want a little downtime. I mean, traveling to all those exotic places, wearing all those beautiful, costly clothes at fashion shows.” She made a shushing sound, then rolled her eyes. “I wish I had it so hard.” She beamed a smile at Willa. “Did you really walk away from a cancer benefit fashion show in New York last week?”

Willa looked at the tabloid picture, then turned as pale as the ice in her freshly squeezed orange juice. “Where did you get this?”

“The drugstore in town,” Mrs. Gilbert replied, nodding. “Went in for some sunscreen and just had to have this, too. I love catching up on all the gossip.” She pulled a pen from the pocket of her cotton tunic. “Will you sign it for me?”

Willa got up so fast, she knocked over the juice. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking around. “I…”

“I think Miss O’Connor isn’t in the mood to sign any autographs right now,” Lucas said, coming to stand by Willa, his arm gently nudging her so she could lean against him. “She didn’t give permission for that picture to be published, and the article is a complete fabrication. Well, you understand, of course, Mrs. Gilbert. There’s no big story here. Miss O’Connor just wants some privacy.” He flashed the older woman one of his best smiles. “Isn’t that the very reason you and Dr. Gilbert keep coming back to Bayou le Jardin year after year—just to get away from all the stress of running a private practice and those fussy patients? You know how we pride ourselves on keeping our guests happy.”

Mrs. Gilbert looked embarrassed, then she smiled at Lucas. “Of course, Mr. Dorsette. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She shrugged. “It’s just that, well, a supermodel, right here at breakfast. It’s not every day you find that.”

“I agree,” Lucas said, his hand squeezing Willa’s arm. Her skin felt silky soft, but cold in spite of the heat. “Miss O’Connor, have you met Mrs. Gilbert? Margaret Ann Gilbert and her husband, Dr. William Gilbert. They’ve been coming to Bayou le Jardin every summer for several years now. Two of our favorite guests.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Gilbert said, playfully slapping Lucas on the arm as she batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s so very nice to meet you, Miss O’Connor. My, you’re so tall.”

Willa gave Lucas a grateful look, then reached out to shake Mrs. Gilbert’s hand. “I’m sorry if I acted rudely, Mrs. Gilbert. It’s just that I thought I’d have some privacy here, and seeing that picture—”

“It’s not a very clear shot, is it?” Mrs. Gilbert replied, obviously enjoying Willa’s discomfort.

Dr. Gilbert, a tall man with a tuft of white hair, came ambling over to take his petite wife by the arm. “Margaret Ann, I declare, can’t you see the woman doesn’t want to be bothered? Now stop gawking and come on back to our table and eat your breakfast. Lorna made these cinnamon rolls especially for you, dear.”

“Yes, I certainly did,” Lorna said, getting up to find more of the freshly baked concoctions. Emily came rushing out of the kitchen with a steaming batch. “Look, here’s Em with more. Have another, then take a nice stroll around the gardens. The butterfly garden is especially pretty this time of year.”

Mrs. Gilbert gave Lorna and Willa an envious stare. “Well, I shouldn’t have any more, but I suppose I’ll never be supermodel thin like the two of you. Might as well enjoy myself in my old age, huh?”

“Exactly,” Lucas told her as he let go of Willa to escort Mrs. Gilbert to her table. Then he leaned low to whisper in the captivated woman’s ear. “And thank you for understanding about our special guest. You are such a discreet person, I hope I can count on you to know exactly the right thing to say—if anyone asks about Willa being here, that is.”

“Oh, my, of course,” Mrs. Gilbert said as Lucas gently pushed her into her chair. “William, pass me another roll, sweetheart.”

“Of course, honey,” Dr. Gilbert said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Think I’ll have another myself, too.”

Lucas left them smiling and cooing over Lorna’s fluffy iced cinnamon rolls, their coffee cups filled to the brim with a fresh brew, thanks to Emily. Lorna gave Lucas a thankful look, then headed over to entertain and distract the Gilberts.

“Thank you,” Willa said as he drew near. “I appreciate that.”

She still looked pale and shaken.

“Why don’t you sit back down,” Lucas told her. He indicated her chair. “Do you want something else? Some more juice?”

She sank into her chair. “No, no. I’m fine, really. Seeing that picture just startled me. I didn’t want anyone to know—”

“That you’re here.”

She nodded, then looked at him. “And that I didn’t live up to a commitment. I’ve never backed out of a show in my life, especially when it’s a charity event.”

Lucas snagged a crisp piece of bacon Lorna had left on her plate. “Couldn’t be helped, I reckon.”

“I should have gone through with it, but I did have my reasons for being a no-show,” Willa replied, more to herself than to him. “I’d hate to think—I don’t want people to believe—”

“People will believe what they want to believe,” Lucas interjected, his hand on hers. “You’ve obviously got a good reason for deciding to cancel out on the show.”

She looked up. “But you don’t believe me, either, do you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering exactly what the rest of the world is wondering—how could I be so shallow and self-centered?”

She jumped up to stare down at him.

Lucas caught her before she could bolt for the house. “Hey, now, slow down. Yes, I’m wondering what happened. But I refuse to believe gossip or half-truths. What I’d really like is for you to talk to me, tell me what’s bothering you.”

She lowered her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not? You can trust me.”

Willa pulled her arm away. “It’s not about trust. This is something I have to deal with on my own, in my own way. I just need some time to think things through, make a decision.”

“And you’d rather be left alone?”

Her expression told him one thing, but her eyes told him that she needed someone to help her through whatever crisis she was dealing with.

“I have to resolve this on my own terms, Lucas,” she replied. She reached a hand up to absently scratch a bright red spot on her arm. Then she turned to leave.

Lucas moved like lightning to catch up with her. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

She shrugged, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just a few bug bites from our excursion into the swamp the other day. I’ve got some lotion in my room.”

“Oh, no,” he said, pulling her toward the French doors. “Rosie Lee has this stuff she makes up herself with herbs and witch hazel. It’ll take the sting out. C’mon, we’ll find it. These Louisiana mosquitoes can be fierce.”

She smiled. “It does itch.”

“We’ll fix it,” Lucas told her, taking her into the kitchen.

Rosie Lee glanced up from the industrial-size dishwasher. “Can I get you anything, Lucas?”

“Nah. We’re just gonna head into the sitting room to doctor Willa’s bug bites.”

Rosie Lee nodded, then turned to her work. “Poor bébé. You’re sure too pretty for da mosquitoes to tote off, for true.”

“Thank you,” Willa said, smiling at the other woman.

Emily came in and glanced shyly at Willa. “Miss O’Connor, I just love…I love seeing you in all the magazines. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Willa gave the teenager a soft smile. “Thanks, Emily. Just remember, what you see in the magazines is the product of a whole team of people—makeup artists and hairstylists, not to mention the marketing and advertising gurus. I know it might sound trite, but real beauty comes from within. And your pretty smile shows me that you have an inner beauty all your own.”

Emily blushed, looked at her mother, then shook her head. “But I’ll never look like you.”

“You weren’t meant to,” Willa replied. “Just be yourself. You have beautiful olive skin and glorious dark hair. Would you believe, I used to wish I had dark hair like yours?”

“Non,” Emily said, laughing. Then she touched her rich brown locks. “It is natural.”

“Keep it that way, suga’,” Lucas interjected with a wink. “Em, you know you’re the belle of Bayou le Jardin, don’t you, now?”

“Lucas, you’re teasing me,” Emily said, grinning.

But Lucas saw the way she held her head high. Willa’s praise had given the young woman some much-needed confidence.

“Em, get back to your chores,” her mother said softly, a look of pride on her face.

Emily rolled her eyes, then grinned again. “I’ll see you later.”

“Medicine’s on the shelf in the pantry,” Rosie Lee told Lucas. Then she glanced at Willa. “Thanks for talking to her. She’s at that age where she thinks she’s ugly. Me, I think she’s the prettiest thing in the world, but I’m just her mamma, hein?”

“She is pretty,” Willa replied. “She’ll blossom into a beauty soon.”

“Oui, her papa is worried about that very thing.”

While Rosie Lee went back to work, Lucas tugged Willa into the little sitting room. “There,” he indicated, placing her on the couch, his gaze holding hers. “That was a very nice thing you just did.”

Willa shrugged, then looked away. “What? Talking to Emily? I was telling her the truth. She’s at such a hard age—caught between baby fat and hormones. I certainly can remember those days.”

Lucas let his gaze move over her slender frame. “Did you actually ever have any baby fat?”

“Yes, I sure did. But I was all arms and legs, so awkward and gangly. I felt like an ugly duckling.”

“And turned into a beautiful swan.”

He saw the sadness falling across her like a cloud over the sun.

“Where’s this soothing medicine?” she asked, her eyes on her itching bite. She rubbed it with obvious nervousness. To avoid looking at him, he guessed.

After rummaging through the first aid kit in the pantry that connected the sitting room with the kitchen, Lucas found the antiseptic lotion that Rosie Lee kept handy for just such purposes.

“Ah, here it is,” he told Willa, coming to sit on the footstool in front of her. Noticing the tabloid on the table, he quickly shoved it to the floor before she had a chance to see it.

Then he took her arm in his hand and began to rub creamy, fresh-scented medicine on the swollen bite. “That ol’ skeeter got you bad, love. Does it still sting and itch?”

Willa looked at him, her big blue eyes filled with gratitude and resolve. “It’s not that bad. I’ve got a couple of others, mostly on my legs. I’ll doctor those with Rosie Lee’s medicine later, if you don’t mind.”

“I could do those, too,” he teased, glad to see a smile tugging at her beautiful lips. “I guess in your profession, you have to be extra careful about bug bites and scrapes—the camera probably isn’t too kind to injuries.”

She nodded, her thick ponytail falling over her shoulder. “I have to be careful, but we have the magic of airbrushing and touching up the photos to help us look perfect—even when we’re not.”

“You’re as close to perfect as any woman I’ve ever met,” Lucas said, his hand going still on her arm. “I just need to take better care of you next time we venture out.”

“I can take care of myself,” she reminded him. “You need to stop coming to my rescue all the time. And you also need to understand that I’m far from perfect.”

Lucas sat back, his fingers touching her arm, his other hand still holding her steady. “Okay, I’ll accept that you probably have your failings, whatever they might be, but I like rescuing you. And besides, I’m a highly trained professional. I took a six-week course at Tulane University on how to handle damsels in distress.”

“Funny, I didn’t know Tulane offered such a course.”

“They only let certain people go through it.” He winked, grinned, then continued to rub her arm. “And they prepare us for lovely, long-limbed models. They warn us that we might lose our hearts, so we have to be strong and prove our worth. It’s a tough challenge—only for the very brave. But we take our job very seriously.”

“You’re completely crazy,” she told him, scoffing. “How many women have you told that tall tale, anyway?”

“I don’t go around rescuing every woman who comes around that big curve in the road,” he told her, serious. “But…you’re different, Willa. It seems as if I’m just supposed to be here for you.”

She abruptly pulled her arm away. “I don’t need anyone to be here for me, Lucas. I’ve been on my own for a very long time.”

“And why is that?” he countered, ignoring the way she’d successfully cut off any shred of intimacy between them.

“I’m adopted,” she blurted. Then she lowered her head, as if ashamed.

Lucas lifted her chin with his thumb. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Looking up, she said, “My parents were older than most when they decided to adopt a child. My father is an ambassador—to a small country halfway around the world. And my mother…she always followed my father around, clinging to him, hoping to be the best possible wife she could be. But she couldn’t have children, and my father wanted a child more than anything. I think that’s the only reason she agreed to an adoption, because he wanted it so much. They both needed a child for appearances’ sake.”

Lucas thought that was a terrible thing to think about your own parents, and especially about yourself. That brought thoughts of his dead mother and father and how much they had treasured their three children. Pushing bittersweet memories away, he held Willa, his hand cupping her face. “Why do you think that, chère?”

Willa didn’t try to twist away. Instead, she leaned into his touch. “They were so distant, so formal when I was growing up. They still are. And they expected so very much, more than I was ever able to give.”

“Do you see them now? I mean, are they still alive?”

“Oh, yes, I see them during holidays—the obligatory visit. But they travel here and there with the social set, their image intact in spite of their daughter’s disgraceful antics.”

“I don’t see anything disgraceful in this face,” he told her, inching closer.

“I was supposed to be just like my mother,” she explained, her expression grim. “I went through boarding school, prep school, college. Then I was supposed to marry some Ivy Leaguer with plenty of old money and settle down to charity events and committee work.”

“I guess that didn’t happen.”

“No. I was ‘discovered’ when a modeling scout came to our campus to do some photo shoots. A friend talked me into going to the shoot just for fun. Well, the agency rep seemed to like me, but at first, I resisted the offer. I’m not one to be impulsive, you see. But the scout and the agency were very persistent. Signed me up on the spot a week before graduation.

“I think I agreed just to spite my parents and their latest catch, a very eligible bachelor who met all their credentials. It was a way to run away, get away. When I turned down his marriage proposal and told my parents I was heading to France for my first modeling assignment, they practically disowned me.”

“But you’re famous, rich, accomplished. What’s the matter with these people?”

“I’ve asked my therapist that many times,” she said, her smile warming his hand. “And I’ve longed to know what’s wrong with me just the way I am.” She stopped smiling. “Then, after I informed them I wanted to find my real mother—”

Lucas watched as she became silent again. He saw the pain marring her face, felt it in the touch of his fingers to her skin. “Did you—find her, I mean?”

Willa put her hand over his, pulling it away from her face. “I’ve been searching for so long. I had just about given up. But about a month ago, the private investigator I hired came up with a family name and a location. Now I’m trying to get up the courage to go and see if this family might be my family.”

“Wow.” He held her hand in his. “So…what’s holding you back?”

Her eyes misted over, but she held the tears at bay.

“I’m afraid,” she finally admitted. “I’m so afraid of what I might find if I do go to see my real mother. What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“That would be tough,” he said, nodding. “But if this is something you have to do—”

“It is.” She got up, the aloof nature intact once again. “Thanks for the medicine. The itching’s stopped now.”

“Willa, wait.” He rose to go after her. But she was already in the hall, heading up the winding stairs. “Willa, do you want to talk about this?”

“No,” she told him, turning to stare at him. “Thanks, Lucas. But there’s so much more to the story. And I really can’t explain all of it right now.”

“When?” he asked, his heart hurting for her. “When, Willa?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t think I should stay here too much longer. It’s only going to get worse if I do.” With that, she turned and fled up the stairs to the second floor, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

Lucas turned from the stairs to look out the French doors, his gaze scanning the great oaks surrounding the front of the house. “How could it get any worse?” he wondered out loud.

After all, he’d already lost his heart.

He could be persistent. He would find out what Willa was so worried about, what secrets she’d brought to Bayou le Jardin with her.

And he’d gladly help her to find her long-lost biological mother, if she’d let him. Because he wasn’t about to let Willa leave these gardens in her current state of mind. Nor anytime soon, if he had his way.

And Lucas Dorsette always got his way.